


ill

by gabriphales



Series: gomens drabble hell [119]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Chronic Illness, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No Plot/Plotless, Sickfic, aka the best genre, care taking, just a little bit of fluff like barely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27869914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: aziraphale has a problem. crowley does his best to look after him
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), az/crow/gabe is implied
Series: gomens drabble hell [119]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664713
Kudos: 21





	ill

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this after having a breakdown bc of hot flashes once again im projecting on az lmao

crowley is good at taking care of things. plants, people, angels. with warlock, he'd fulfilled the role of a nanny quite excellently. some might say he'd gotten a little ahead of himself, even, with all the other empty parts he'd tried to fill up with his company. playing a bit of a parent, when warlock's own were too busy to tend to him as faithfully as any child deserves. so he's experienced, he knows what he's doing, he can _do this._

but when aziraphale looks at him with those hopeless, frightened eyes, and his shivering pout, and his body that shakes like grass beneath a pattering hurricane, crowley isn't quite so sure of himself anymore. he tries simple distractions first, reading from the many of aziraphale's ancient books, and going chapter to chapter in hunt of something properly interesting when aziraphale starts to fade out. his eyes get so grey when he's like this, half-lidded and so incredibly _weary._ he's exhausted beyond words, drifting between differing states of consciousness, with only crowley to help drag him out of his fog.

he holds the angel in his lap, tucked up in their bed, with the heavy quilts burdening both their bodies like a weight to hold them solid, to keep aziraphale from floating away entirely. it helps him with feeling grounded, aziraphale had once explained. and anything that helps, crowley is more than willing to do. he insists upon it, flashing red with a blaze of irritation that suggests more fear than it does anger when gabriel tries to switch them out for a few lighter blankets. at the time, he'd explained it as a way of ensuring aziraphale doesn't overheat, because good _lord,_ the hot flashes are awful like this. they have aziraphale whimpering, clinging onto crowley as he pleads for it to stop, please, it's getting frightening, he's _scared._

they're disorienting, aziraphale says, when it's easier for him to talk, and the fog is starting to dissipate. his head floods with a twisting spiral of warmth, a whirlpool that spins and spins until his vision is going with it. the vertigo isn't the worst bit, though, as he states. the worst bit is the _fear._ the way it creeps up on him slowly, itching just beneath his skin, a sinister feeling that burns him up from the inside out. he can't help feeling desperate like that, when the moment hits him, and all of a sudden, he's _terrified,_ terrified of nothing in particular, and everything at once. 

"sick," aziraphale murmurs, his head lazy and cheek flat against crowley's chest, skin sticking with sweat (and an unfortunate number of tears) to his sweater. "i'm quite unwell, unfortunately."

crowley holds him closer, tighter. _like that'll do anything to help,_ he thinks sorely to himself. _impossible to make this better._ and it's true, at some level, because the sickness comes and goes and stays when it wants to, lingering in aziraphale, lingering in the house like a bloody plague. by the time it's gone, aziraphale is fresh and fruitful and _happy_ again, a spring in his step, and gratitude on every syllable as he thanks crowley over and over. at least there's no room for apologies, anymore. gabriel had talked him out of that when crowley couldn't take another _i'm sorry_ that sounded more like _please forgive me for being like this._

"d'you feel like you're gonna, y'know," crowley makes a gagging gesture, and aziraphale giggles, fingers wrapping around his skinny wrist, and bringing his hand to his waiting lips. he kisses at crowley's knuckles, at the smooth expanse of his skin, and shakes his head.

"not yet," he says. "though i'm afraid there's still room for mishap, i suppose."

"you need anything, you just tell me, yeah?" crowley says, his voice lilting on an unspoken question he knows aziraphale will hear regardless, _you do know i'm happy to give this to you, to provide, in health and in sickness, just like the vows said?_

and aziraphale smiles, replying in his own way. "of course. don't you worry a thing about me, my dear, i'll be just - " he breaks off to yawn, eyes squinting like a tired cat's. "just fine."

crowley knows that he means exactly what he says, and even more - he knows it's an answer to both questions. the quiet approval, and silent promise. _i know, i love you, thank you for what you do._

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes u gotta be a kinnie and give ur kin all ur issues mental and physical am i right


End file.
